


Dichotomy

by therisingharvestmoon



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Freak Show
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 14:56:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5379338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therisingharvestmoon/pseuds/therisingharvestmoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blue-eyed and black-hearted, Edward Mordrake visits the mortal realm on October 31, 2015. Things have not changed all that much. Set in Australia. Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dichotomy

**Author's Note:**

> For anonymous. Find me on the same username on tumblr if you'd like to request something.

The earth beneath his leather-covered feet was crisp, cloying hot and unfamiliar. Although by technicality he could no longer breathe, Edward Mordrake knew the smell of a place like this. Rural, remote even. Compact red earth beneath fragrant wisps of wild bush flowers, sharp grass and creatures skittering around in the blessed dark. Bleach-white bones rotted, but any predator was scared back into the shadows. He smirked. To the shadows he was their king. 

Mordrake stepped in time with the wisps of fog rolling around his feet, as though gliding on top of the ethereal mist. His ice blue eyes searched for the one. He heard voices - English, but in a rough tongue. The Continent, he was sure of it. He stood atop a hill near to the township, its lights glittering in the dark. He came through the trees where there was light and noise. A house. A party in the stables, perhaps? A party and a performance. This was new, certainly.

 _Hurry up, sentimental child,_ intoned a second voice, impatient.  
  
He flicked his head, as though irritated by an irksome fly - of which there were plenty.

'Shhh, be still.'

If truth be told it had been many a year since he had been summoned, but no less difficult to find the despair of the social outcast from which to drink. That particular cup would never be empty. 

A fair-sized crowd dancing and swung beneath the glow of inspect killing lamps and electric fairy lights. Though starkly out of place with the casual summer clothing of the group, Mordrake went unnoticed in the shadows. He espied the poor fellow who had drawn him near so fatefully - missing both legs, dear soul - singing in quite a pleasant voice under the eave of the house.

 _Innocents, everywhere, even the half-man._ It hissed, only to him.  _He is not the one._

'Do you not think I cannot see that, simply by sight? It is a modern time! He probably holds a profession, is well-liked, respected.'

_Find one then._

He scowled. 'There are some... true freaks, I am not sure.' 

Mordrake scanned, feeling for the magnetic pull of sorrow. There were heartaches, but that which he felt was largely trivial.

 _There!_ It hissed, gleeful in its detection of misery. 

He frowned, joining with the demon, to see. Where? There. Not enveloped, but just a tinge of pain, like poison in water. Diluted.

'I must know her story first.'

He couldn't see yet, only feel. Female, young. Damaged. At odds with the upbeat rhythm of the music playing as he was a gentleman of old in this hot new world, supplanted like the tradition of All Hallow's Eve. 

He was gliding again, drawn as he got closer. In the dark, most eyes glanced over him for a few seconds then gone. Some of them were wearing skeleton printed materials, dressed up almost like children. Most suckled at their low alcohol brews like it was mother's milk. None fell at his feet in horror or supplication. One pair of eyes appeared in a pale face, sun-freckled slightly. Eyes were grey, and yet blue, found him directly. He felt a sting then, but not a real one. A prickle. That face was happy that in those eyes was concealed misery. And then, Mordrake slipped back into the shadows.

\--

Perhaps it was the heat, but for the longest time she simply kept breathing, dead to the world. They would normally feel his gaze, piercing blue and piercing the veil of their false identities, but there seemed to be a heaviness dragging her down. 

He considered extending a leather-gloved hand toward her shoulder - rising and falling gently - when she started. 

'Jesus Christ!'

He turned his head to the side slightly, sad that he had scared her. As always. Those eyes were wide, huge. Then calm. A mere party guest, she could only assume.

His chuckle was low. 'Not quite, I am afraid.'  
  
There was a flicker of curiosity among the confusion as she sat up in her sleeping bag. 'Right... Is the accent part of the costume?'

Her eyes hadn't flicked in desperation to her fellow sleeping party-goers, Edward noticed.

He smiled, eyes glinting in the low light. 'My name is Edward Mordrake. I am guessing you have not heard of me?'

She couldn't help but smile back slightly. 'No, I haven't.' Her tone was friendly, was she playing the part back? Oh, but this was all too real...

_Ask her, ask her, ASK HER OR I'LL SLIT HER WHORE THROAT._

Edward hoped she didn't see him jump. He paused, only to find the words. They didn't know of his legend. She wasn't at all afraid. But if she ran It would take him and go after her. Perhaps bash the pretty temple in with a rock? No.

He gave her his most charming smile. Let her think it is a game, then. 'Tell me then, sweetling, you have heard ghost tales on the night of Halloween?' He crouched down, silk cloak pooling in the dirt, red and black, curling like a snake.

'Well... yeah?' There was a tiny crinkle above her eyes.

He leaned in closer. 'And yet there was no one at this fine establishment to weave a tale.' Her ocean eyes locked with his then, and he saw her face relax as the magic suspended her fear or scruples. His voice darkened. 'Tell me then, of a tale of woe?'

 _Let the whore cunt think of her past, good._ The child, he guessed not much past sixteen, was transfixed by this image of the charming old style man, while the voice only he could hear spoke such words that would make him sick.

'I was twelve', she started, seeming to see past him. 

_Not so long ago._

'Go on,' coaxed the friendly, handsome face.

'He came in the door when everyone else was asleep.'

'A ghost?' 

'My step-father. He... got into bed with me. Almost every night.'

He felt the demon recoil and yet expand, to drink in the sorrow. Disgust marred the freak's princely visage. 'He assaulted you?'

'He loved me, that's how he saw it.'

In the silence, the cicadas' song was deafening. The long-dead blood roared in Edward's ears. 'This is truly horrible, my lovely one. The most intimate betrayal, from that who should be the carer. And?' He loathed to know more.

'And... He stopped.' She was crying, despite the hypnosis. Perhaps she would remember less, so transfixed.

_This does not make her a freak. Ask. ASK._

Edward's voice was no more that a whisper, his eyes glassy. 'And what stopped him, my dear? Did you kill him?'

She smiled. 'No, no... I smothered his baby, with a pillow.' She smile was fixed, tears trailing down the curve of her cheeks into her mouth. 'And I was happy when he came into the crib and saw... He took away my childhood so... I killed my own sister."

Her voice had not grown louder, instead creaking to a halt like an unoiled wheel. In so many hundred years, Edward Mordrake was seldom stunned. Her breath cut through the silence. 'There is worse.'

'What could be worse, poor wretched creature?'

'I still don't feel bad. I have never felt more relief that hearing that crying...'

'She is the one.' He said aloud. For once, he and the face were in agreement. She still stared up at him with that pretty face and those so seemingly-innocent eyes. But it was the babe he felt for. He saw the long cotton dresses on the unmarked, unburdened younger siblings his mother had birthed, only briefly seen for the fear of what the demon would tell him to do. But for this one so sweet and young, the only mouth telling her what to do was her own. Surround by empty beer bottles, he hoped it would be painless, and yet, in a way, just.

Those eyes watched, bewitched by his otherworldly magics, as he brought the bedclothes down over her face and moulded his gloved hands to her head, until there was a vacuum of satin which she tried to suck in, not even enough air to draw breath and scream.

For now, It fell into a stunned and placated silence to see the darkness in his own body and heart take this girl, truly, only a victim herself. And just as bad was he, Edward Mordrake, for the guilt he felt lasted only as long as the wisps of green fog left in his wake. Until another Halloween. 

 

 

 


End file.
